A Tale of Six Trillion Years in One Life
by Starlite1997
Summary: The tale of a, so-called, "Demon child" How he manages to live on in his monochrome world of neglect "In a village in an unknown era, There lived an unknown young boy; Know to none, this is his fairy tale…"


_**Star: Based on the songs, Roku-Chou-Nen to Ichiya Monogatari, and later on, Invisible**_

_**Lite: We haven't planned how many chapters this will have, but we know it'll have a 6**_

In a village in an unknown era, There lived an unknown young boy; Know to none, this is his fairy tale…

How long has this been going on? From the time I was young I suppose. I've been treated poorly for as long as I can remember. Labeled a "Demon child" by everyone around me. My family never cared for me at all; it seems as if I was tossed away. And tossed away I was. Currently locked in a dirty room, my arm chained to the ceiling.

All I receive is punishment. That's how it always has been and always will be. Barely fed, barely cared for, hardly ever looked at. But I don't want them to look towards me. All I'll see is their spiteful eyes. I don't want to see them. And I guess the same vice versa. I just don't feel like I belong there. And I guess the same vice versa. There would be no other guessable reason to throw me in this prison otherwise.

Despite the fact I am a demon child. They hate me that much to label me that. But what if all they say is true? What if I truly am evil? Well that doesn't matter. But they do know how to show it. The people I used to see, their clothes were nice. What I'm wearing looks like someone's tossed away shirt. A terrible feat.

At least it matches, and when I say matches I mean my emotions. Discarded yet still hanging around. My heart; it's inside my chest. But for what purpose is it still around? If I'm really the demon they say I am, why am I still alive? They should have killed me off long ago then. But the life I'm living is like being dead. So there's no real separation between the two.

That excludes the worlds of the living and the dead. Though one of the two doesn't seem as bad as the other. Living. I've always wanted to live. The way things are now, I wouldn't call living. Half-dead. Standing in a dirty room. They won't let me sit. That's one form of punishment. Having one arm chained to the ceiling for eternity that is.

Yesterday, I remember one of the punishments I received last night. It was a beating. The belt though, that was the lucky thing. Yesterday was the lazy person in the village's turn to punish me. He could have said no. No. He went on ahead. His aim was lousy, what a terrible feat. At times his missed my bottom and hit my legs, causing me to flinch in pain.

I'd worked up somewhat of an immunity to lazy hits to the ass. They began to hurt less and less. My legs though, were very sensitive. At that moment I could feel a terrible pain run through my thighs. I turned my head down; I wouldn't like to remember my weakness. Some days I wish that this could be over. I really haven't done anything wrong.

I haven't done anything wrong. In return to this I see cold nights, endless torture, and seclusion. I'm alone. Completely alone. No one would want to be with me. So seclusion is the only choice. But I see people sometimes. But only those who come to harm me, and pummel me with insults. Those come from the young as well.

I remember when I used to sit in a cage in the center of the village. A group of kids would confront me every day. Each baring a variety of sticks, rocks, and anything else their parents allowed them to attack me with. One always brought a pocket knife with them. He would sharpen the sticks and rocks and, eventually, shards of broken glass to the point when they could easily penetrate skin.

So I sat there. I didn't say a word to them. I kept my head down so they wouldn't stab one of my eyes out. I took blow after gut wrenching blow. My tattered clothes being filled with holes.

A few months later, the kids came up again. None of them had brought their objects, all expecting others to let them borrow. Minus the boy with the pocket knife, he always kept that with him. They yelled at one another feverously. Blaming one another for the same charges. This went on 'til the boy with the pocket knife pulled it out. And threw it at me.

The bars of the cage were no help to avoiding this situation. The blade met my stomach face on. My shirt easily penetrated with the weak force of the tip. I remember the kids scattering about the ground. Some running away others trying to find who did this. Just to praise them.

A vast amount of blood dripped down the shirt. Running and meeting the edges of the cell. Me. Currently speechless. I can't speak at the time, most would say I was in shock. I would say otherwise. And then. I pass out.

When I woke up, I was greeted by stitches and another form punishment. But I was moved to a different area. A dirty and discarded room. The room I currently inhabit. I would say this is a demotion to being stabbed with sharp objects every day. People had to enter the room to punish me now. Usually they left the job to their kids.

Having to be here made them mad, being set in a sick room with a demon. A highlight of their day. Yeah right. It made them terribly mad. The began to swear at me before, during, and after, they had to harm me. I've been called many things in life. The major being "Demon child" but there are also "Useless, Abomination" And words to foul to come out my mouth. Not like they would anyway.

I see my next visitor. A woman with long hair. And what's that gift see's bearing? A whip. I feel like I've seen her before. Maybe around home?

_**Star: We have to stop now *insert random awws here***_

_**Lite: But don't worry! *trying to think of a reason not to worry* No wait, I take that back**_

_**Star: Feel free to guess the boy in the story (We still won't tell you) Mata ne!**_


End file.
